It Ain't Me
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Bart Maverick gets mistaken for a bank robber named Burt Jenkins. What happens after he's cleared leads to a beautiful girl, gunplay and murder
1. Mistaken Identity

It Ain't Me

Chapter 1 – Mistaken Identity

So here I sat, in another jail cell, in another town, for another thing I didn't do. Sometimes all I have to do is walk into a saloon and I get accused of something and, because I'm what others might call a gambler, I'm automatically assumed to be guilty. I don't drink and I don't cheat at cards – that ain't the way I was raised. Me or my brother Bret. My name's Bart Maverick, and Bret is my older brother, by a whole seventeen months. Pappy raised us both to be honest poker players, just like he was, and that's the rule we abide by. Unless we're bein' cheated, that is.

So when I walked into the saloon in Longworth, Kansas, all I wanted to do was drink some coffee and play some poker. I had just gotten to the bar and ordered the coffee when I felt a gun barrel in my back and heard a voice tell me to turn around slow and not reach for my gun. I was not gonna argue with a loaded Colt so I did as told. The man holding the pistol wore a sheriff's badge and a grim expression. "Burt Jenkins, you're under arrest."

"Sorry to disappoint you, sheriff, but my names Bart Maverick. I have no idea who Burt Jenkins is." My standard answer, and the truth.

The sheriff shook his head. "I just got a wire from Topeka with a description. You fit it perfectly. Held up the bank there and killed a teller. Hand me your gun – with your left hand."

"Sheriff, I'm tellin' you my name's Bart Maverick. I haven't been in Topeka for more than a year. If you'll just let me . . . " I was reaching in my inside coat pocket to produce some identification as I spoke.

"Put your hand down, Jenkins, and give me the gun before I shoot you."

That was all the arguing I was about to do. I've been shot enough times that I had no intention of getting shot again, and I reached with my left hand and passed my gun to the lawman standing in front of me. "You're makin' a mistake, sheriff . . . ?"

"Randal. Jim Randal. Let's go." The gun wiggled and pointed out the door, back the way I'd just come in, and I followed the way it was pointing. Sheriff Randal looked a little too eager to pull the trigger, and a mistaken identity apology wouldn't do me much good after I was dead. I found my way back through the batwing doors of the saloon and out onto the boardwalk and looked up the street. I'd seen the sheriff's office up that way as I rode into town, and headed towards it now. No sense doin' any more disagreeing with the man as long as he was determined that I was Burt Jenkins. In just a few minutes I was sitting in one of his jail cells.

"Now can I prove to you who I am?" I asked him as he sat down at his desk. I pulled my wallet out of my coat, the one that Pappy had engraved 'Bart Maverick' on the outside when I turned eighteen, and handed it through the bars. Inside was a picture of Bret and me that Pappy had taken when we were drafted into the Confederate army, and a letter from Bret that I'd carried since the day I thought he'd been killed in Dodge City.

Reluctantly Sheriff Randal got up and came over to take the wallet. He walked back to his desk, sat down and looked it over, pulling out the picture and the letter both, then spent almost a full minute staring at my name on the outside. He studied the photo before unfolding the letter and reading it, finally replacing both where he'd gotten them from. The wallet was deposited carefully on his desk before he picked up what might have been the wire he'd received and looked it over one more time. Then he turned his attention to me. "Tall. Slim. Thirtyish. Brown hair and eyes. Dresses like a gambler." He got out of his chair and came over to the cell. "Let me see the back of your right hand."

I got up from the cot in the cell and stuck my hand out between the bars. "Whatta you lookin' for?"

He looked over every square inch of my hand – front, back, fingers, wrist, until he knew it better than I did. Exasperated, he let out a sigh and let go of my hand, walking back to his desk for the keys to the cell. He gave me a sheepish look as he unlocked the door. "Alright, I give up. Everything you showed me could have been faked, but there's no way to get rid of a scar from a bullet that went through your hand. Sorry . . . Maverick, was it? I was sure you were Jenkins."

I must have been in a forgiving mood – or maybe it was just the idea that all it had taken to convince the sheriff was a scar I didn't have. But now as I put my hat back on my head and walked out of the cell, I wanted to know . . . who was this Burt Jenkins?

"That's all you know about him, sheriff? No wanted poster? Ever heard anything about him before?" I'd just been arrested because I matched a description that could have fit a thousand men – and I wanted more information. I sat down next to Randal's desk and waited.

"Yeah, I heard of him, but that's about all. I wired back for a better description but haven't heard anything so far. Why the sudden interest?" He looked at me skeptically, like I'd developed a second head or something.

"Why wouldn't I be interested? I just got arrested because you thought I was him. That's a good enough reason for me."

"Uh . . . yeah." Randal seemed to be looking for a place to hide when a young boy ran in the front door of the jail.

"Just got an answer to your wire, sheriff. Thought you'd want it right away," and the boy was gone as fast as he'd arrived, leaving the telegram in Randal's hands. He read it over and then handed it to me. _'Gun-hand. Good looking. No further description available. Headed your way. One-thousand-dollar reward, dead or alive.'_

"Well," I commented, shaking my head. "Sure leaves me out. Nobody on this earth would call me a gun-hand."

That made the sheriff chuckle. "Guess I didn't get a chance to find out. Sorry about the mistaken identity, but I think you can see why I figured you were Jenkins."

"Yeah, I guess so. Whatta ya gonna do now?" I was more than just curious – I was in Kansas, and if Jim Randal had mistaken me for Burt Jenkins, the next sheriff or marshal I ran across before I could get outta this state was liable to do the same – maybe with more damaging results the next time.

"What I do every day. And keep on the lookout for this Jenkins fella. You stayin' in town, Mr. Maverick?"

"I am now, sheriff. At least you know I'm not Jenkins. I'm safer here than somewhere else, for a while." At least I hoped I was. With that I stood up. "Can I have my Colt back now?"

"Huh? Oh, sure. Here it is." He handed me the gun he'd taken from me earlier, and I returned it to its holster. I headed for the office door and almost got run over by a pretty little thing with red hair and blue eyes that I'd spotted for just an instant earlier in the saloon. She looked at me and smiled, then continued over to Randal's desk. Normally she might have gotten my complete and undivided attention, but I was rather happily involved with a real beauty named Doralice Donovan back in Little Bend. We had a pretty solid relationship goin' and, while I wouldn't qualify for sainthood, I had no intention of messin' it up for a small-town roll-in-the-hay. That did not prevent me from appreciating and admiring a fine looking woman, and I smiled back and paused. I had nowhere I had to be at the moment, and the scenery here was not at all bad.

"Sheriff, I came to tell you something, but it looks like you've already figured it out," the redhead announced. She glanced back at me and smiled.

"That Maverick wasn't Burt Jenkins? You coulda told me before we left Lilybelle's," Randal remarked with a note of annoyance in his voice.

"No, Jim, I couldn't tell you. Someone might have overheard me and asked how I knew he wasn't Burt, and I couldn't take that chance." The smile had faded and all that was left was a sad, forlorn look on her face.

Meanwhile, Jim Randal and I were both confused. "What do you mean about taking a chance? Taking a chance on what?" The sheriff asked the question, but both of us wanted the answer.

"That someone would find out what I've been hiding ever since Burt Jenkins started robbin' banks."

"Excuse me, Miss . . . ?" I interrupted. The girl turned towards me.

"My name's Trinity," she answered, and a wan smile appeared in place of the forlorn look.

"Miss Trinity, I got arrested because I matched Jenkins description. What have you been hiding that was so important that no one know?" I thought I had a right to know the truth.

She sighed then, and sort of collapsed into the chair next to Randal's desk. "This has to remain a secret, Mr. Maverick. My full name is Trinity Dumond . . . Jenkins. Burt Jenkins is my brother."

I don't know who was the most surprised, me or the sheriff. We looked at each other, and then back at the girl who suddenly looked so small, before anyone spoke. Randal recovered first.

"But . . . but . . . Dumond. You said your name was Dumond. Why . . . ?"

"It should be obvious, sheriff," I finally spoke up. "From your reaction to the news. How do you think the rest of the town would react?"

"Exactly," Trinity nodded as she turned her full attention to me. "I came here to start a new life after I got run out of Salina. I didn't want the same thing to happen here. That's why I didn't say anything in the saloon. I like it here; I want to stay. You understand what it's like to get run out of town, don't you, Mr. Maverick?" Her eyes grew enormous with pleading.

"My name's Bart, Trinity," I told her. "And I can't begin to tell you how many towns I've been run out of. I see no reason for it to happen to you here." Now I took a good look at the sheriff, actually for the first time.

Jim Randal was about my height, a little heavier than me, with light, curly hair and a mustache. He was younger than he'd appeared at first, and it was evident from the expression on his face that he had feelings of some kind for the pretty redhead. It didn't take him long to make up his mind. "No, nobody needs to know. It's yer brother robbin' banks, not you." He shook his head and turned his chair to face Trinity Dumond. "Can I ask you some questions, Trinity?"

"About Burt?" There was just a tinge of fear in the girl's voice.

"Yes, ma'am. It might help bring him in alive." Not that it would make a whole lot of difference. If Trinity's brother had killed a bank teller in Topeka he'd hang, and last time I checked dead by hangin' was just as dead by any other means. It wasn't my decision to make, though, and the saloon girl had decided she'd take the chance. You just never know with juries and trials. I was living proof of that very fact.

"Alright, Jim, what do you wanna know?"

Randal didn't hesitate. He asked her the question that I would have asked her. "Just how much does Maverick really look like your brother?"

She turned her head back towards me. "Could you stand up, please, Mr. . . . Bart?"

Sometime during the discussion going on I'd sat down on the far side of Randal's desk. "Sure, Trinity," I grinned. "Anything for a lady." I gathered myself and stood up, removing my coat in the process. Just to give her a better idea of how I was built; coats can hide a multitude of sins and they served to play down how thin I actually was. She looked me over from head to foot and I felt my cheeks redden. I'm not sure I've ever been quite so thoroughly studied before. At least, not with my clothes on.

Trinity seemed to inspect me with a critical eye at first, but slowly a smile spread across her face. "Just about the same height. Burt's got more weight on him, but spread out kind of even. Not much, but enough you'd notice. And his hair's lighter. Sometimes he wears a mustache, but a real thin one. All in all I'd say they're both good-lookin', and if you stood 'em side by side they could probably pass for brothers." It gave me pause, saying we could pass for brothers. Made me think of Geoff and Henry Radson and the trouble we'd had in Laredo. I was brought back to the present when the girl nodded her head, almost as if agreeing with herself. "Same kinda clothes, but Burt's always been a little flashier. He likes bright colors – and he'd never wear a vest as elegant as that one." She stopped then and looked me in the eyes. "And his eyes are blue – and nowhere near as expressive." Her gaze seemed locked on mine, then suddenly she broke it off and blushed herself. "I'm sorry. I've never done anything like that before. No offense meant."

She'd just called me good-looking, and she was the one blushing. "No offense taken. What about guns?"

"Guns?"

"Single rig? Double rig? Left-handed?" The sheriff clarified.

"Oh," Trinity responded. "Two guns. Would you call that a double rig? But he's right handed."

"Shot in his gun-hand?" I asked, even though the answer to the question was obvious.

"When he was a boy," the girl replied and didn't elaborate.

"Anything else you can tell us, Trinity?" Jim Randal questioned. "Anything we should know?"

Her eyes strayed from the sheriff to me and back again. She was confused, and unhappy, and just about the saddest person I'd ever seen. But I saw her shoulders straighten just a bit, and then her chin lifted and she looked at Randal with determination. "He used to be a good man," she clarified. "I don't know what happened to change that, but somethin' did. If he's a killer, somethin' made him that way. The brother I grew up with would never have shot someone he didn't have to."

That was my cue to get her out of there before she started to cry. "Come on, Miss Trinity, let's go back to the saloon and have some coffee. See if we can take your mind off everything. That all right with you, sheriff?" I didn't expect any resistance and Randal didn't give me any.

"Sounds like a good idea. I'll be over in a few minutes, Trinity. Go on over with Maverick."

I offered the redhead my arm, and she took it. At that moment she looked small and vulnerable, and I felt that old urge to protect another member of the fairer sex. As my brother would probably ask if he were here, _'What is wrong with you, Brother Bart? You don't even know the girl!'_ Somehow I could always hear Bret in my head askin' questions that I couldn't answer. I smiled down at her and she brightened up just a bit, and we walked back across the street to Lilybelle's.


	2. The Other Burt Jenkins

Chapter 2 – The Other Burt Jenkins

"You've got no call to be so nice to me," Trinity told me as the bartender brought us both coffee. I took a swallow, something I'd been on the verge of doin' until the sheriff shoved a gun in my back, before I answered her unspoken question – why?

"Why shouldn't I? You're not the cause of my encounter with the sheriff, and you came to get me out of it at great personal risk to yourself. Besides, I've got nothin' but time!"

Her eyes had brightened somewhat, and she looked a whole lot happier and at ease than before. "And you won't say anything?" She still sounded a bit skeptical.

I shook my head. "Nope. Not my story to tell." I'd gotten that one from Brother Bret; it was one of his favorites.

"Thanks. Why do you have so much time?"

I was determined to answer her questions as gently and protectively as I could. "I don't have to be anywhere in a hurry." That was true. And I wasn't about to leave a town where the sheriff was already convinced that I was really gambler Bart Maverick and not fugitive Burt Jenkins. "Does he know you're here?" I asked.

"In Longworth, you mean? He does if he got my last letters. If not, then no." She paused before asking me a question of her own. "How long are you gonna be here?"

"As long as it takes for your brother to show up."

"And what if he doesn't?"

With a sister that looked like that, maybe willing to provide him refuge from the law? "He will."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, while the bartender brought more coffee. Finally she asked, "What then?"

"Depends on what happens."

"You mean whether he lives or dies?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Whether Randal catches him or not."

"Well, at least you're honest."

That caused me to laugh. "One of my failings in life."

"He's riding into a trap because of me, isn't he?" That miserable look was back, and I felt the need to do something about it.

"Maybe. Since the whole state is lookin' for him, it could be here or anywhere else in Kansas. You've nothing to feel guilty about. He made his own bed – he has to sleep in it."

She sighed. "I suppose so."

"When was the last time you saw him?" I'd been wanting to ask the question for some time now.

"It's been . . . four or five years."

"Tell me about it." It was a plea and not an order. Trinity took another swallow of coffee and a minuscule smile creased her mouth, an ironic kind of smile.

"It was in Wichita, and Burt was workin' at the Lazy J Ranch; he was foreman there and saving to buy a place of his own. There was a girl named Lydia that he wanted to marry. She was young; younger than me, and delicate looking. They seemed to really love each other. Burt figured it would take another year to save enough to get married, and Lydia was willing to wait. I took a job in Topeka and had to leave. The year passed and he bought a little spread, and they got married. Some time later the drought hit, and I didn't hear from him for over a year. By the time I tracked him down, he'd already robbed his first bank. He wouldn't tell me what happened, but there was no longer a ranch and no longer a Lydia. He's refused to discuss it ever since then."

"Isn't there someone in Wichita that you could write to and find out what went on?" Seemed reasonable to me, but I was afraid I already knew the answer.

"I tried," she explained. "I wrote to several people, but no one answered me. To this day I still don't know anything about the ranch or Lydia, or the changes in Burt. What else can I do?"

She wasn't gonna like my answer. "Wait."

We sat in the saloon for another hour or so, and Trinity finally glanced at the big clock over the bar. "I have to eat supper. I'm supposed to work tonight."

"Then let me take you. I have to work tonight, too," and that got a laugh out of her.

"Poker?"

I nodded. "Where's the best restaurant in town?"

"That would be Mollie Malone's – just down the street. They'd rather I didn't frequent the establishment dressed for work."

I grinned, the devil stirring things up inside of me. "Then that's exactly where we'll go. And wear your prettiest work dress. Come back and get me when you're ready and we'll walk down there. I owe you for doin' your best to save me."

This time I got a genuine smile. "Alright. You've got a deal. Me, they would say somethin' to. You, they won't bother."

"Why?"

"Because you look and dress like a gentleman. They wouldn't dare question a gentleman."

I wanted to laugh, but I didn't want to make her feel bad. "Then this gentleman will be proud to take this lady to supper." I stood up and pulled her chair out for her. She flashed me a grin and left through the batwing doors. There were no empty seats available at any of the poker games, so I sat back down and pulled out a deck of cards. Maverick Solitaire it was.

It was less than an hour when Trinity returned. She was still dressed like a saloon girl, but what a spectacular saloon girl she made. She wore a peach colored dress cut low, with lace sleeves and ribbons everywhere. She'd put her hair up on her head in curls, and I couldn't help but smile when I saw her. I stood up as she walked to the table and once again offered her my arm. She took it.

When we got to Mollie Malone's we were seated without question, as every male head in the place turned to stare at Miss Dumond. No matter who they were, there wasn't a man in the restaurant that wouldn't have traded places with me.

The food was excellent and the company delightful. Trinity was lovely and witty and charming, and I was human. I had to keep reminding myself about Miss Donovan back in Little Bend. Doralice was a woman worth waiting for.

After supper we strolled slowly back down the street to Lilybelle's, just in time for both of us to begin 'work.' I don't know what her night was like, but mine proved very profitable. Around four in the morning the last poker game broke up and the bartender, Johnny Stover, sent the girls home. I walked Trinity back to her boarding house and then headed to my hotel room.

I'd arranged to meet her for breakfast the next day which, for two night owls like us, meant somewhere around one o'clock in the afternoon. Nevertheless, we were still able to get breakfast at Mama's Longworth Café, and we spent another hour eating and talking. Trinity was much more interesting than the average saloon girl, and we decided that I would rent a buggy and we'd go for a drive. It was a lovely day for a June afternoon and I think cabin fever would probably describe the mood both of us were in. At least no one was gonna mistake me for Burt Jenkins . . . no one of any consequence, that is.

There's a small cluster of lakes just a little west of town and that's where we went. I'd brought a bottle of wine and Trinity had brought a blanket, and we spread one under an Eastern Cottonwood and lay on it while we drank the other. We talked and laughed about brothers and other family and finally, when the wine and the warm afternoon began to take effect, we dozed. I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke I could hear hushed voices, one of them Trinity's and the other an unknown man. I didn't move and kept my eyes closed, and it didn't take me long to figure out just who the man was.

Trinity sounded upset, worried, agitated, and genuinely angry. The male voice was calm, placid, and slightly amused. I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying for the first few minutes; it sounded like they were walking and were too far away. Gradually the voices got stronger and clearer, and I lay there listening for a long stretch of time.

"You still haven't answered me," Trinity insisted.

"Yes, I have," the man that could only be her brother, Burt Jenkins, stated. "I told you I've never killed anybody that I didn't have to."

"Does that mean you had to kill the man in Topeka?"

"No." The answer was emphatic. It also didn't explain what had happened to the bank teller.

"Then how did he end up dead?" The girl's voice had changed, and she was back to sounding miserably unhappy.

"I don't know. I didn't shoot him."

"Well, everybody thinks you did. Poor Bart even got arrested for it."

A small laugh followed her remark. "Is that where you picked up that tinhorn? In jail? What were you doin' there?"

Trinity made some kind of a sound before she answered him. "Sheriff Randal arrested him since he matched your description. I went to tell Jim it wasn't you."

There was no mistaking the noise Jenkins made. It was a grunt. "Jim? Awful friendly with John Law, ain't you?"

"I'm not a bank robber, Burt. I'm friendly with the sheriff. And Bart Maverick was an innocent victim."

"Hmpf. I doubt that. Ain't no gambler an innocent victim."

"He was. Just because he fit your description. This is getting us nowhere, Burt. You have to turn yourself in. You can't keep on like this."

Dead silence. I rolled over sideways and opened my eyes. Trinity and Burt were down by the lake closest to us, and I could see why Jim Randal had arrested me, based on the description he had of the outlaw. We were the same height, and while he wasn't quite as thin as I was, he was closer to my build than Bret's. His hair was lighter brown and right now he was clean shaven, and he looked like he'd raided my war bag and stolen my clothes. All except the vest; it was a bright, peacock blue. A black string tie and black hat completed what he wore, along with a black double gun rig. He picked just that moment to look my way; our eyes locked and his guns came out faster than I could even think about mine.

"Your gamblin' man's awake," Burt hissed, and I lay absolutely still. "Don't get no ideas, tinhorn; I'd rather not shoot ya in front of Trinity."

It finally dawned on her what I'd meant when I told her earlier to 'wait.' "I'm sorry, I woke up and he was here."

There was no sense continuing to lie on the blanket; I sat up slowly. "Not your fault. I didn't think your brother'd get here this fast."

"On your feet, gambler. And keep your hands where I can see 'em. Alright, drop the gun belt and come down here towards us."

I follow orders real good when there's two guns pointed at me. I unbuckled the belt and dropped it, then raised my hands and walked towards Jenkins. I tried to look around without turning my head too much, and from what I could see the outlaw was alone; there was no sign of anyone else with him. I made my way slowly and carefully, and Burt shifted the focus of one gun from me to his sister.

"Not very hospitable, Burt, aimin' that gun at your sister," I pointed out to him as I got to within ten feet.

"Shut up. Get over there next to your friend, Trinity," he instructed, but most of the hostility was gone from his voice.

"Are you gonna kill both of us, Jenkins, or just me?"

A look of horror crossed Trinity's face as she realized what I'd just asked. Apparently her brother's gunning us down had never crossed her mind. "Shut up, gambler. I'm not shootin' anybody today, unless they keep runnin' their mouths."

"So you're just gonna ride on outta here and let us go back to town and warn the sheriff?" I watched the expression on his face and for a minute thought that I'd pushed things too far. Then he relaxed and I let out a long, quiet breath.

"Haven't decided what I'm gonna do, Mr. Smart-Mouth. I'll let ya know when I do."

"Burt . . . "

"Not now, Trinity. I gotta think." Jenkins took the rope from his horse and walked us back to the blanket, then tied my hands behind my back and shoved me down. His sister stared up at him, waiting to see if he would tie her up, too, but he didn't. "Don't think you can get away, sis," he told her. "You make one move to leave and I shoot the gambler. Got it?" She nodded and sat next to where I'd landed.

"What are we gonna do?" she whispered to me, and I offered her the same answer I'd given just a few hours earlier.

"Wait."


	3. Wichita

Chapter 3 – Wichita

Waiting was easier said than done. The afternoon passed slowly and turned into evening, and the next thing Trinity said to me was "I'm hungry." By that time I was too, but her brother gave no indication that food was on his mind. It's difficult to do much besides sit and watch when your hands are bound behind your back, and watch was all I did. Jenkins cleaned and reloaded his gun, groomed his horse, and walked around the lake several times. He was never far enough away for Trinity to take a chance on untyin' me, and I thought that was a wise decision. Like I said before, I've had enough bullet holes in me to last a lifetime.

Eventually the sun went down, and Jenkins came back to the blanket with a rabbit. He skinned it and cooked it and it wasn't the best-tasting thing in the world, but it was food. I thought at first he was gonna feed his sister and not me, but he eventually issued a warning about not tryin' anything funny and untied me. When we finished eating I ventured a question, in the most casual tone of voice I could manage. No sarcasm, no threat, no disrespect.

"You come to a decision about what you're gonna do?"

It was almost a full minute before Jenkins answered. "Nope. Not yet."

With that I gave up. I watched Trinity until I caught her attention, then I whispered to her, "Go to sleep, girl. Get some rest. Maybe he'll decide by morning." It wasn't easy to sleep with your hands behind your back but I was so sore and worn out that I finally did. I woke up several times during the night but never heard anything or sensed anyone or anything moving other than Trinity, who'd rolled over next to me and lay as close as she could get, as much for warmth as protection. The next time I opened my eyes it was daylight and there was someone standing over me, and I steeled myself for the sound of a hammer being pulled back that never came. Instead I heard a slight chuckle and then felt hands untying mine. I looked up and saw the face of Jim Randal. I glanced around hastily and there was no Burt Jenkins in sight. Or Trinity Jenkins, either.

"Randal?" was about the only thing I could say at that exact moment.

"Yep, that's me. Where's Trinity?" There was a note of concern in his voice.

"I don't know," I answered, pulling my hands in front of me, then sitting up and rubbing my wrists. "She was here the last time I woke up. Jenkins must have taken her."

"He was here? You saw him?"

I nodded, now rubbing the back of my neck. "He found us yesterday afternoon, while we were nappin'. He couldn't decide what to do with us – I almost expected to wake up dead. When I heard you I thought it was him."

"You come out in a buggy?" For the first time I looked around. There was no sign of anything with four legs and a tail, the buggy or the horse Jenkins had yesterday. He'd taken Trinity, voluntarily or against her will, and left me out here to walk back to town. At least he'd left me alive. "If I take you back to town, will you ride with me to look for 'em?"

I'm not big on posses. I'm usually not big on anything that could potentially cause me any kind of pain or suffering, but I had the feeling that Trinity's disappearance had something to do with the fact that I was still breathing. "Let's go get me a horse. I'm with ya, sheriff."

Riding double is not the easiest thing in the world. Still, we made it work and went straight to the livery in town, and were quickly on our way back to the spot where I'd been left by the lake to pick up the trail. They weren't hard to track and we followed the buggy ruts for several miles until we finally found the carriage abandoned under a scrub of cottonwood trees. The horse was gone, apparently being used as a mount for the girl. Randal's expression was grim but hopeful; at least she was still alive. The sheriff hadn't seen brother and sister together but I had, and I doubted that Burt would harm her unless he felt there was no other way out.

"What I don't get," Randal stated flatly, "is why he didn't shoot you. He's already killed once, why not finish you off and get it over with?"

"He told Trinity he never shot the bank teller."

"Do you believe him?"

That was a good question. I hadn't at first, but he was pretty insistent about it, and the fact that he hadn't killed me made it easier to accept as possible. "I do, for some reason. It woulda been easy to shoot me, but he didn't. Why bother with that if he was already sure to hang?"

Randal shook his head. "Don't know. Maybe he didn't wanna commit murder in front of Trinity?"

Was the sheriff grabbing at straws, or was he right? Something occurred to me just then, something I hadn't thought to ask before. "Did Jenkins rob the bank by himself, or was there somebody with him?"

Another shake of the head. "Don't know that either. Does it make a difference?"

"Maybe." I had a captive audience, so I kept going. "If there was somebody with him, it could explain how the teller got killed. This wasn't his first bank robbery, was it?"

Randal gave it some thought. "Nope. He got a bank in Junction City, and one in Emporia, and one in Placerville. And who knows where else that just hasn't been tied to him yet. Why?"

"Anybody shot in the other robberies?"

"That's another one I don't know the answer to. You got somethin' in mind?"

I nodded as we rode away from what was left of the buggy, following the tracks of the two horses southwest. "Yeah, but I need more information first. Any idea where they might be headed?"

"Right now? Towards Wichita."

"You think that's where they're actually headed?"

The sheriff smiled slightly. "I don't know what to think anymore, Maverick. I thought you were Jenkins. I thought Trinity was just a sweet, unattached girl. I thought I'd be sittin' in my office right now. Nothin's turnin' out the way I expected it to. Maybe Jenkins did have a partner and that's why he's headed for Wichita. Maybe he's just runnin'. Maybe he's got another holdup planned. Whatta you think?"

I had to shake my head. I was only slightly less puzzled than the sheriff. But something that he'd said stuck and I couldn't seem to ignore it. _'Maybe Jenkins did have a partner and that's why he's headed for Wichita.'_ What if that was the truth and the partner was the one that shot the teller in Topeka? That still didn't answer any of the other questions I had. What happened to Jenkins ranch? And his wife, Lydia? Why did he start robbing banks? And why had he taken Trinity with him?

Randal and I rode on well past sundown, until it was too dark to follow the tracks any longer. We made camp and ate supper, or what passed for supper, and caught three or four hours sleep before it started to get light. We were up with the sun, drank coffee and once again took up the pursuit.

It was almost mid-morning when we came up carefully over a small rise and recognized Burt and his sister in the distance, still headed towards Wichita. Now we had to figure out how to catch up to them without being spotted.

It took almost the whole day. We went around them in a sort of semi-circle and managed to get in front of them. We were waiting when they came up over the next rise, and we caught Jenkins unaware. I didn't expect it to be so easy; it was almost like he wanted to get caught. I snuck up in front of them with my gun drawn; Randal fell in behind them, the same way.

"Time for you two to take a rest, ain't it?" I asked.

"Take the guns out and drop 'em on the ground, Jenkins. Don't make me shoot ya. You'd bleed to death before I could get ya to a doctor." The sheriff sounded serious, but I knew that the last thing he wanted was to shoot the girl's brother.

"Bart!" Trinity exclaimed. "Jim! Am I glad to see you two."

"Are you alright?" the sheriff asked, unnecessarily.

Trinity slid down off her horse; I did the same while Randal kept his gun trained on Burt. Quickly the girl was in my arms, but it was nothing romantic. "He's got a derringer," she whispered to me. "Inside left coat pocket."

"Get down off the horse," I ordered, "and keep your hands where I can see 'em." As soon as Jenkins was on the ground I retrieved the Remington from his coat. He glared at his sister but said nothing. "Were you goin' to Wichita?"

"Whatta you think?" That was the first thing he'd said since we caught up with them.

While the sheriff cuffed Burt, I turned to Trinity. "Did he tell you?"

"Sort of," she answered. "Said there was somebody he had to see in Wichita. To find out what happened. Sounded like he meant the bank robbery in Topeka. He wasn't very happy about it, I can tell you that."

"Your partner?" Randal asked Jenkins. "The one that did the actual killin'?"

"That's right. And how I got on the hook for it."

I looked at Randal. "How far?"

He knew what I was asking him. "Another day. You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"Yep. Might as well."

"Might as well do what?" Trinity asked. "Go on to Wichita?"

"Yes, ma'am," Randal told her. "Wichita it is."

And that's just what we did. Two or three times one of us asked Jenkins something about his partner and we got curt, one-word answers. When we got answers at all. The last time we stopped for water Trinity pulled me aside. "Burt's not gonna give you any information. But here's what he told me," and she relayed everything her brother had filled her in on. It was quite a story.


	4. The Thousand Dollar Reward

Chapter 4 – The Thousand Dollar Reward

I rode next to Burt for most of the afternoon. It was almost like riding next to Bret, but Burt Jenkins talked a lot less than my brother did. Towards evening he seemed to be more comfortable with me, and he actually answered a few of my questions. "You do have a partner, don't you? Waitin' for you in Wichita?"

"Ex-partner."

"Your choice or his?"

"Mine."

"He got a name?" He looked at me kind of sideways when I asked that question, but after a few minutes he finally answered.

"Roscoe. Roscoe Spencer."

"He wanted anywhere?"

"Why? You huntin' bounty?"

"Nope. Wondered if there was a picture out on him."

"Don't know. He's easy to spot."

I waited to see if he gave me any more information, but he didn't. So I asked. "Why's that?"

"Tall. Your age, maybe. Hair's snow white."

"White?" I asked again, just to be sure I'd heard him right.

"White."

"He shoot the teller?"

That answer came back quickly. "Must have. I went out the door first; the teller was still alive."

I had one more question for him. "Why'd you leave me alive and breathin'?"

"No reason to kill ya."

We rode until dark, then camped. Good thing we'd be in Wichita tomorrow – that night we ate the last of the beans. Trinity was quiet, but she came over to talk before we bedded down. "You got Burt to talk to you today."

"For a while, yeah."

"Find out anything important?"

"Quite a bit, actually."

She looked at me hopefully. "Such as?"

"He ain't gonna hang, Trinity."

"You mean . . . ?"

"I believe him. He didn't do no killin'. It was the ex-partner."

She shook her head and stared unhappily at the ground. "Can't prove that."

"Might be able to, if we can find him."

"Burt tell you who to look for?"

I chuckled softly. "Sort of."

"Alright, I won't ask anymore. If you can do anything to help him . . . I don't want him to die, Bart."

She scooted next to me and I put my arm around her. She was shivering, whether from the sudden chill in the air or something else, I don't know. I pulled out my bedroll; I carried an extra blanket and I wrapped it around her.

"Thanks."

"Go to bed. We'll be up early tomorrow. Take the blanket with you."

It was still dark when we rode into Wichita. Randal took Jenkins straight to the marshal's office; I took Trinity to the dining room at the hotel and bought her breakfast. Then I got us each a room and sent her off to bed. Tryin' to sleep on the ground is no place for a woman.

I washed up and headed for the marshals. A few minutes later I was sittin' with Randal and Marshal Riley Temple, drinking coffee and talking about the prisoner, now locked up inside one of the cells. "Know anybody named Roscoe Spencer?" I asked the marshal.

"No, can't say I do. He involved in these robberies?"

"Looks that way. How about somebody around my age with white hair?"

"White hair? Are you sure?" Randal questioned.

"I've seen somebody like that down at the Silver Dollar Saloon. Two, three nights ago. The bartender called him Whitey. Maybe that's this Roscoe character," Temple volunteered.

"Worth a try. Randal, be at the Silver Dollar at seven? We'll see if he's still in town." If this Whitey was indeed Roscoe Spencer, the last thing I wanted was to be there alone. He'd already proven to be a killer.

"Alright, Maverick. Riley, we'll meet you there."

I headed towards the hotel, stopping at the General Store to pick up some clothes, both for Trinity and me. I had to guess at her size but it wasn't too hard, she was so danged little. I knocked on her door but she must have still been sleeping, so I took everything back to my room and settled in for some rest myself.

The hotel clerk woke me at six o'clock to tell me the bath I'd ordered was ready. Being clean again felt good, and so did fresh clothes. I stopped by Trinity's room on the way back to mine, and this time she answered the door. "I wondered where you were," she told me as she reached up to kiss me on the cheek.

"Gettin' a bath. Come back to my room; I bought you some new clothes. I'll tell you what I know." She followed me down the hall as I explained my earlier conversation with Temple and Randal. "I'm meetin' 'em at the saloon at seven. Why don't you get cleaned up and change clothes, get somethin' to eat downstairs? I'll see you when I get back."

"Bart, why are you doin' this? You don't owe Burt or me anything."

How could I explain it to her when I wasn't even sure myself? The only thing I knew was that I had a brother, too, and if Bret got a raw deal I hoped that somebody would help him. Yeah, Burt Jenkins had robbed the banks, but if he didn't kill the teller in Topeka then he shouldn't get hanged for it.

"Maybe I don't wanna see the wrong man hanged." I checked my gun, to make sure it was loaded, and opened the door. "Go take care of yourself. I'll be back."

Just a few minutes later I was at the Silver Dollar. Randal was waiting at the bar, but the marshal hadn't yet arrived. I checked the clientele; there was no one that matched Roscoe Spencer's description. Temple walked in the front door and joined us, and a short time later the back door opened. Three cowboys came in; the last one through the doorway had snow white hair. I turned my head towards Randal. "Spencer," I mouthed, and he nodded.

We waited until the three men had glasses and a bottle, and had deposited themselves at a table. Randal walked towards the back door, like he was leavin', and came up behind them. Temple had unholstered his gun and held it quietly by his side, and I headed around the far side of their table. The marshal was the first to speak. "Roscoe Spencer? You're under arrest for bank robbery and murder." His remarks were accompanied by his gun barrel being shoved into Whitey's back.

No one spoke, but one of the cowhands dropped from his chair to the floor and pulled his gun. I was lucky; I was in position behind the table and I kicked the gun out of his hand. The second cowboy wasn't quite so lucky; he reached for his weapon and Randal shot him. Whitey never moved a muscle.

"How'd you know?" Spencer finally asked.

Temple didn't waste any time answering the real killer. "Your ex-partner. Seems he didn't like gettin' blamed for a murder he didn't commit. He'd prefer you bein' hanged, rather than him."

"Jenkins always did have a big mouth. I suppose you got him in jail, too?"

Randal nodded. "He'll get tried for the bank robberies."

"Good luck gettin' him back to Topeka." Roscoe had a smug look on his face, like he knew something we didn't. I wondered what we were missing. Burt had only talked about an ex-partner, not a gang of any sort.

"That ain't your concern, Spencer. Let's go," Temple shoved Whitey forward with the gun barrel. Jim Randal followed with the cowboy that I'd disarmed. I brought up the rear.

Burt didn't look at all surprised when we got inside the jail. As a matter of fact, he looked rather pleased. For obvious reasons, the marshal put Whitey in a different cell, and the cowboy got a cell of his own. At this point, there was no connection between the two men that had been with Spencer and any of the bank robberies, but Temple wasn't taking any chances.

We hadn't discussed what would happen when Whitey was caught; I had no idea what was to be done with either of the bank robbers. I'm not sure Randal or Temple had decided their next move, either. Right now my main concern was the petite redhead waiting back at the hotel, and I left the lawmen to go deliver the news that her brother wouldn't hang. How long he'd be in prison was anyone's guess, but at least he'd still be alive.

Trinity answered the door right away and looked better than she had when I left for the saloon. She'd cleaned up like I suggested, and she'd changed into the clothes I'd bought her. I must not be too bad at guessing a woman's size, because what I'd gotten her fit perfectly. "You had supper?" I questioned.

"No, I wanted to wait for you. Did you find Whitey?" Her voice was hopeful and I was glad that I didn't have to disappoint her. I had the feeling she'd had enough disappointments in her life for one so young.

"We did, and Marshal Temple's got him in jail. Now Burt can be cleared of murder."

Once again I got kissed, only this time it wasn't on the cheek. "I don't know why you were so determined to help, but I'm glad you were. Is Jim gonna take him back to Longworth?"

"I don't know. I came to tell you the news before they'd decided anything. Let's go eat – you must be starved. We can go over to the jail soon as we're done and see what their plans are."

I got no argument from the girl, and we went downstairs to the dining room. Half an hour later we both felt better; I even lit a cigar as we walked over to the marshal's office. I didn't know what we were gonna find, but Iwasn't prepared for the argument going on.

Jim Randal wanted to take Burt and Roscoe back to Longworth; Riley Temple wanted to send for the Federal Marshal and the circuit judge and have the trials right here in Wichita. From the sound of things, they'd been bickering about it ever since I left.

Trinity went straight to her brother, and he actually looked relieved to see her. I stayed away from 'em and let the siblings have some time together without interference. It wasn't long before I got drawn into the squabbling between the John Laws.

"I brought Jenkins in; he goes back to Longworth with me," Randal insisted. "That means I take Spencer back, too. He'll have to testify. Ain't that right, Maverick?"

I shook my head. "I'm stayin' outta this. Where anybody goes on trial is none of my concern."

"There's reward money on Jenkins. You won't collect that unless the circuit judge sets a date for trial," Temple pointed out.

"Reward money?" I asked. That was the first time I'd heard there was reward money.

"A thousand dollars," the marshal answered. "You're entitled to it, according to Randal."

I was entitled to it? Normally I would have agreed with the two lawmen. But there was something about this that just didn't feel right. Maybe it was Trinity – she'd been in the same situation as me, run out of towns just because . . . well, just because. Maybe it was the story she'd told me – the truth of what Burt and Lydia went through, and what turned Jenkins from law abiding citizen to bank-robbing outlaw. Maybe . . . maybe I didn't know exactly what it was. Like pappy always said, ' _There's only one thing more important than money – that's more money.'_ And most of the time I try to live by that philosophy, but something bothered me about collecting this particular thousand dollars. I wasn't quite ready to give it up just yet, but I was sure thinkin' about it.

I heard Trinity say "Goodnight" to Burt, and she headed across the jail floor towards me. Randal and Temple were still arguing about who was going where, and I'd had enough of it for one night.

"Are you ready to go?"

The girl smiled and took the arm that I'd extended to her. "Yes, sir. Thank you for bringin' me over here. Burt's right relieved that Whitey's in custody. I am, too. Even if those two can't decide what to do next." She nodded toward the marshal and the sheriff. "Think they'll have it resolved by morning?"

"I don't know," I replied as we left the jail and headed back across the street towards the hotel. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."


	5. Judges, Trials, Lawyers

Chapter 5 – Judges, Trials, Lawyers

The girl and me were both up early, and I took her downstairs to breakfast. She wanted to go across the street to the jail with me, and that's the way we headed. Again. I was hoping by this time that Temple and Randal had worked out their differences and decided on a course of action. I was ready to get back to playing poker; I really hadn't done any of that in a week and my poke was drifting dangerously close to a critical level.

I was encouraged when I opened the door – there was no arguing going on. Maybe because Riley Temple was the only one in the office.

"Mr. Maverick, Miss Dumond. You here to see Jenkins or me?"

"Both, actually," I told him. Trinity had already walked over to Burt's cell and they were talking quietly. Whitey appeared to be asleep, and the cowboy was gone. "No wanted poster?" I asked as I pointed to the empty cell.

"Right. Don't know what they mighta been plannin', but he wasn't wanted for anything. So I turned him loose this mornin'. He left in a big hurry."

"Can't say that I blame him. What about you and Randal? Come to a decision?"

"Not really. He still wants to take 'em both back to Longworth, then on to Topeka, and I can't convince him it's too dangerous. So I went ahead and sent for the circuit judge. He'll be here tomorrow, and he can set a trial date. I've already put in a request for your reward; the judge approved it via wire. The bank'll have it tomorrow."

"That reward, marshal? Half of it goes to Miss Dumond. Just give it to her when it comes in."

"That's awful generous, Maverick."

I shook my head. "Not really. If it hadn't been for her . . . just take my word for it." I felt better once I'd made the decision. I'd have a bigger poker stake, and Trinity would have something that might help her decide what she was gonna do. If she wanted to stay in Wichita, she could afford to. If she wanted to get Burt a lawyer, she could do that. The decision was hers, and not somebody else's.

Temple had solved a problem for me, too. Since he'd sent for the circuit judge, I didn't have to worry about going back to Longworth with Jim Randal. Which meant I wouldn't have to play deputy and help him guard Jenkins and Spencer. I could stay in Wichita and find me a game or two, see what I could do about that money situation before heading back to the little Kansas town to pick up my belongings.

I walked over to Jenkins cell to give them the news. "I can't stay here, Burt," Trinity started. "I can't afford to."

"Sure you can," I told her. "The reward money'll be here tomorrow. Half of it's yours."

"I can't . . . no, that belongs to you. I can't take it." She seemed determined to refuse the five hundred dollars.

"Don't argue with the man, Trinity. Take the money." At least her brother was thinking straight.

"I can't take reward money on my own brother."

She had a point, I guess. "You can get Burt a lawyer, Trinity. Somebody that can get his sentence knocked down. And you can be here for the trial, without worrying about how to pay for it."

"What about you? Are you gonna stay or go back with Randal?"

I chuckled a bit. "Randal doesn't know he's goin' back empty-handed yet." Just as I finished, the sheriff opened the front door. He tipped his hat to Trinity and went straight to the marshal's desk. The discussion started all over again, but a lot quieter than yesterday. Eventually Randal nodded his head and seemed to agree with Temple, and a look of relief settled on the marshal's face.

"To answer your question, Trinity, I haven't decided yet. I'm gonna play poker tonight, and that's about the only thing that's certain at this point." I headed back to the marshal's desk. Randal looked up when I got there.

"You split the reward with Trinity?"

I nodded in answer to his question. "I did. It seemed fair to me. How fast are you gonna head back?"

Jim shrugged. "I'm gonna wait for the judge tomorrow. I should be able to take Jenkins back to Topeka for trial – that's where he's wanted, after all. Ain't no reason to hold a trial here in Wichita."

There was something he hadn't thought of, and I reminded him of it. "What about Trinity? You haul her brother back to Topeka, everybody in Longworth's gonna know her real name's Jenkins. You want that for her? After she's tried so hard to keep it from people?"

That got the sheriff to thinking, and I could see on his face he knew I was right. "Bout three steps ahead of me, ain't ya? I didn't think of that."

"You could ask her, sheriff."

Randal nodded and got up from his seat at the marshal's desk. I sat down in it as he walked over to Jenkins cell and began discussing it with Trinity. I saw her nod and try to smile, and they talked for a few minutes before he got his question answered. He returned to Temple's desk quickly. "She'd prefer the trial here, where nobody knows her. I'll be stayin' till the judge gets here, see if he'll let me leave a sworn statement about Jenkin's cooperation and help with findin' Spencer. Then I'll be headin' back to Longworth. You're welcome to come along if you want. Decisions yours."

The sheriff didn't waste any time; he turned, tipped his hat to Trinity, and left much the way he'd come in. "Sweet on the girl, huh?" the marshal questioned me.

"Kinda looks that way. Can't say I blame him, she's a good soul. Got any decent lawyers in this town?"

"For Jenkins? Yeah, two or three. Cary Todd, Jack Bridgewater, Harry Stillman. All good and honest. I'd try Bridgewater first. He's got the most experience. You got feelin's for her, too?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Just wanna help her out. She could use a break. What time's the judge due in tomorrow?"

"Noon stage from Dodge. Better get her to a lawyer this mornin' so's he can get to work on it."

"Sure. Thanks." I stood up and stretched, then went to collect Trinity. "Marshal made some suggestions for a lawyer. Want me to go with you?"

"Don't waste your money, Trinity," Burt offered.

"Yes. Would you? I'd appreciate it." She tried another of those smiles. This one didn't work any better than the one she'd attempted to give the sheriff.

"Trinity . . ." Jenkins started, but she ignored him and headed for the door. I followed her outside.

"Why are you involved in this, Bart? Ain't it bad enough you got arrested because you looked like Burt? Why are you being so nice to me? What's in it for you?"

Good questions, all. Like I said before, part of it was my brother – I hoped somebody would help him if I wasn't around. Part of it was the feeling I had for Trinity – she'd had one bad break after another, and I wanted to see that she didn't have any more. I felt sorry for her; she reminded me a lot of my cousin Jody, and I was experiencing those 'big brother' inclinations that so often motivated Bret. Part of it was the way I was raised – treat women with respect, help them when they needed it, whether they asked for the help or not. And part of it was boredom.

"Nothing, Trinity. Nothing at all."

XXXXXXXX

We went to see Bridgewater first, and he listened carefully to Trinity as she explained the whole story, including the Burt and Lydia parts of it. When she was finished he had plenty of questions, including some for me. "Why are you still involved in all this, Mr. Maverick?"

It was the 'Mr. Maverick' that made me uncomfortable. "Please call me Bart. I guess . . . I guess I just want to help Trinity. This whole thing ain't been easy on her, and I think she deserves a break. Maybe Jenkins does, too."

"Are you two romantically involved?"

"No," Trinity answered emphatically.

"Then what's your interest, Bart?"

I was better prepared for Bridgewater's question than I had been for Trinity's. "Look, I got pulled into this whole thing because I matched the bank robber's description. Now that we've come this far I just want to see it through to the end. Jenkins needs to pay for what he's done, but not for somethin' he didn't do."

The attorney nodded his head. He was in his forties, I'd guess, and had an honest face. When he spoke, you tended to believe what he had to say. He was medium height, brown hair rapidly graying, and kind looking eyes. "I agree with you. We must prove that Spencer committed the murder and not Jenkins. A sworn statement from Sheriff Randal regarding the defendant's help and cooperation will lend credence to our plea for mercy, but it would be better if we could persuade him to stay in Wichita and testify in person. I take it you will do the same, Mr. . . Bart?"

Trinity had been clutching my hand the whole time, and she squeezed it now and pleaded, "You will, won't you Bart?"

"How soon do you think the judge'll schedule the trial, Mr. Bridgewater?"

The lawyer smiled, for the first time since we'd sat down. "Jack, please. Probably the day after he arrives. The witnesses are all here, there's no reason to delay it. I'll take the case, Miss Dumond. My fee is two hundred fifty dollars. And I'd like to go talk to your brother now, if you have no objections."

The girl looked more at ease than I'd seen her in quite a while. "None at all, Jack. Do you need me to go with you?"

"No, ma'am. I think its best you don't. You staying at the Wichita Palace?"

Trinity nodded. "Room two twenty-seven."

"I'll come over after I talk to your brother. Your room, Bart?"

"Two thirty-five. Anything else, Jack?"

A shake of the attorney's head. "Not for now. I'll see you both later."

Five minutes later we were back on the boardwalk. There were two things on the agenda – a telegram to the hotel in Longworth, advising them to hold my belongings at the front desk until I got back for them, and a visit to the general store. "What for?" Trinity questioned.

"More clothes, young lady. You need somethin' for court, and I need somethin' for poker. Since we're stayin' here for the time being, that is."

"I'll pay you back, whatever you spend. For the room and everything."

Her remark brought a smile to my face; it meant she'd accept the reward money and not argue about it. While I sent the telegram to Longworth, Trinity headed for the general store, Snyder's Emporium. I was hoping I'd see Jim Randal somewhere so we could talk about his stayin' in Wichita, but no such luck.

By the time I got back to Snyder's, Randal had been located. He was in the store talking to Trinity, and they looked like they were having a bit of a disagreement. I bided my time and went to see what I could find that would be more appropriate for poker and court than what I had on. They didn't have a big selection of clothes that would fit me, and by the time I'd found something Trinity was alone. She had two dresses and once I'd paid for everything we walked back outside. "You and Randal looked serious. Did you ask him about stayin' for the trial?"

"He says it depends. If the judge schedules it right away, he'll stay. If not . . ." It wasn't so much the look on her face as the tone of her voice.

I tried to cheer her up. "I'll talk to him. We'll get him to stay and testify."

"He said . . . he said I didn't need him because I had you. I tried to tell him, Bart, but he wouldn't listen. He thinks I'm in love with you."

I don't know where Randal had gotten that idea, but it looked like it was up to me to set him straight. I escorted Trinity back to her room and set out to find Jim Randal. He wouldn't listen when Trinity told him the truth; it was time he heard it from me.


	6. Restless

Chapter 6 – Restless

It was early evening before I located Jim Randal. I'd spent the entire afternoon searching for him; what he was doing besides avoiding me was a question I couldn't answer. I finally spotted him entering the livery, and I hurried to get there before he disappeared again.

I could have taken my time – he was grooming his horse and seemed to be entirely occupied by the task. I stood outside the stall for a good five minutes, waiting for him to see me and stop to talk, but I seemed to be invisible. Finally I cleared my throat and spoke. "I've been lookin' for you all day, sheriff. Can we have a few words?"

"As few as possible, Maverick," was the response I got. Trinity was right – Randal believed us to be – well, something that we weren't.

"Look, Jim, I need to get somethin' straight with you.. I talked to Trinity, and she told me you . . . well, you've gotten the wrong idea about her and me. I ain't gonna lie to you, Jim – there ain't no her and me. I'm not in love with Trinity Dumond. And she's not in love with me."

"Sure. Whatever you say." There was nothing in his voice but disdain.

"It's the truth."

Randal stopped currying his horse and looked at me. "Then why are you still here in Wichita?"

"I'm waitin' for the reward, for one thing."

"Oh? If that's so important, why'd you give half of it to Trinity?"

Is that what was bothering him so much? "Because she needs it. She can't stay here for the trial with no clothes, no food, no money. And it would have broken her heart if she couldn't get her brother a lawyer."

"Nobody gives away five hundred dollars for the hell of it."

I almost laughed; what Randal was getting at was absurd. And I wondered what I'd done to make him believe it. "There wouldn't have been no reward without her. And I'm the one that got pulled into this against my will – remember, sheriff?"

Randal finally stopped what he was doing and looked at me. "If what you said's true, why are you bein' so dang helpful? She was a complete stranger to you just a few days ago. Why's she so important now? Ain't you got a life to get back to?"

I did laugh, then. "Remember what I do, Randal? I'm a gambler. I mighta still been sittin' in Lilybelle's playin' poker, for all I know. Or I coulda been two hundred miles away from here by now. I might even be in Wichita, doin' God-knows-what. In other words, no, I ain't got anywhere I need to be. I just felt sorry for the girl and wanted to help. I got a brother of my own, and if he got in trouble I hope somebody'd help him. That's all there is to it. I got a woman, down in Texas, and I don't need another."

The sheriff stood there for another minute or two, absorbing what I'd told him, then started shaking his head. "If what you're tellin' me is true . . ." I waited for him to finish the thought. It took a minute before he did. "Boy, do I feel like a fool. I had myself convinced that you and Trinity . . . well, that you two fell in love . . ."

"Nope. Not even just a little. I think she sees me like she would Burt – a big brother, only more dependable than hers. It ain't me she's got feelin's for."

"Then who . . . oh, really? Does that mean . . ."

I nodded my head, more than happy to see their budding relationship back on track. "Yeah, it does." Next I took the brush out of Randal's hand. "Don't you know the livery man will do that for you? There's a lady at the Wichita Palace that could use some company for supper. Why don't you go see if she'll go with you?"

Even in the fading daylight, I could see the embarrassment growing on Randal's face. "Thanks, Bart. I'll do that. And thanks for settin' me straight." Jim left the brush with me and headed for the door. I, honestly, breathed a sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was find a decent poker game.

XXXXXXXX

Some seven hours later I was sitting in the French Galley Café, having breakfast after what had been an up and down night. Poker wasn't looking like my best friend until the last two or three hours I played, and then it seemed I could do no wrong. A single pair turned into three of a kind; Jacks and fours became a full house; a nervous cattle rancher let me bluff my way into a big pot. When the game broke up I waited to see which I needed most – sleep or food. The fact that I was in the middle of hot cakes, bacon and coffee should give you the answer to that.

I had just set my coffee cup down when Marshal Temple walked in. I was one of the few men in the place, and he wandered over towards my table. "Mornin', Maverick. Up awful early, ain't ya?"

"No, marshal, out late. I was just about to head for my hotel room and catch some sleep before the noon stage got here. You never did say who the circuit judge was, by the way."

"Didn't I? Doesn't matter a whole lot, does it? It should be Roy – Judge Edward Roy. How'd your poker go last night? You stayin' for the trial?"

"Probably. Unless the judge delays it for some reason. You think he'd do that?"

Temple sat down. "Not likely. That's the beauty of a circuit judge. You don't send for him until you're ready to go to trial. So Jack Bridgewater took the case, huh?"

"He did. Seemed like a good fit. Thanks for the recommendation."

"You see Randal after he left yesterday?" Sounded like the sheriff hadn't come back to see the marshal.

"Yeah. Twice, as a matter of fact. I think he'll be here to testify for Jenkins."

Temple smiled. "Good. Ain't no sense in hangin' a man for somethin' he didn't do."

I smiled grimly. I'd been in that position on more than one occasion, and I wholeheartedly agreed with the marshal. Right about then I yawned and knew it was time to go catch some sleep. "Marshal, I'm goin' to turn in. Catch you later."

"Good mornin', Maverick. Or should I say goodnight?"

I tipped my hat, paid my bill, and left. I had a date with a bed.

XXXXXXXX

I did something real unusual for me – I overslept. Usually I don't have any problem waking up when I'm supposed to – but I sure did this day. It was almost two o'clock when I opened my eyes, and by that time there was no sense in hurrying . . . I'd missed the judge by quite a bit.

I shaved and got dressed, then walked myself over to the jail. It was practically full of people – Marshal Temple, Sheriff Randal, Trinity Dumond, Jack Bridgewater and the obvious, Burt Jenkins and Roscoe Spencer.

"Well, lookee here," Randal crowed. "Somebody's late to the party." The sheriff looked a whole lot happier than the last time I'd seen him. So, for that matter, did Trinity.

"Late night," I explained, and turned to Riley Temple. "Judge Roy? What did he have to say?"

"He talked to the prosecutor and set the trial for tomorrow at nine. For the Topeka robbery only. Guess he didn't think there was enough evidence for any of the others."

I turned to Randal next. "You stayin'?"

He glanced at me and smiled, and that's when I noticed he had hold of Trinity's hand. "I'm stayin'."

Before I could ask any more questions, Jack Bridgewater asked me one. "Can you come back to my office? I'd like to go over your testimony."

"Sure," I answered quickly. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"Lunch? What's that?"

So the lawyer had a sense of humor. "How about we go to lunch first? I'll buy."

"Watch out, Jack," the marshal warned him, "he played poker last night."

Trinity finally spoke up. "And knowing Bart, he probably won."

"I did. That's why I offered to buy. What do you say, counselor? I need to stop at the bank, too, on the way to your office."

The girl shook her head. "No, you don't. The bank gave me your reward money." She pulled a stack of bills from her pocket.

I looked at the pile she'd handed me. "This is more than five hundred dollars."

"Remember I said I'd pay you back for the clothes and the hotel? That's what I did."

I sighed. I hadn't expected her to do that, but I wasn't gonna argue with her in front of what seemed like half the town. "Alright. Mr. Bridgewater? Lunch?"

"Sounds good, Mr. Maverick. How about Minnie Pearl's?"

"Anywhere they serve food is fine with me. I'll be back later, marshal."

We left and I followed the attorney up the street to a little cafe. We ate lunch and talked about the trial in general terms, things that could be discussed in public, before heading for Bridgewater's office. Once we arrived we settled down for a good hour of the lawyer's questions and my answers. When we'd gone over everything Jack could think of, I left and went back to the marshal's office. He was the only one still there.

"You and the counselor get everything squared away?"

"Yeah, I think so. He seems pretty sharp to me," I answered. Bridgewater had impressed me with his attention to detail and questions about even the most minor issues..

"He's a good attorney. He can prove his point without wastin' time."

"What's up with the charges against Spencer?"

"First-degree murder. Judge says he'll start the trial soon as he's done with Jenkins. Prosecutor's got no problem with that."

So this could all be over in two or three days; at least my part in it. That was a good thing, the way I saw it. I'd been in Kansas long enough and was beginning to feel like it was past time to move on. And remember that woman I had down in Texas? I felt the need to see her and hold her in my arms, and I couldn't do that if I stayed in Wichita. It was time to go home for a while.


	7. The Trial

Chapter 7 – The Trial

One good thing – Judge Edward Roy was a prompt soul. The trial started at exactly nine o'clock the next day, and everybody I knew in Wichita was in that courtroom. It was the first time I'd been inside one since the fiasco in Montana, and I was awful glad only to be a witness at this one.

Judge Roy was probably somewhere in his late forties, with sandy blonde hair turning gray, glasses, and a quiet, imposing manner. He looked like somebody you didn't want to mess with. Joel Black was the prosecutor, a tall, reed-thin man in his early fifties, rapidly balding and grim-looking. Come to think of it, I've never seen a prosecutor who wasn't grim-looking.

Burt had been officially charged with bank robbery and first-degree murder. It was up to his attorney to convince the jury he wasn't the man that killed the teller.

The trial moved rapidly. Marshal Temple was the first to testify, followed by Sheriff Randal. Sworn statements from the bank president and a customer who was in the bank at the time of the robbery were read, then Trinity was called to the stand. Bridgewater questioned her about Burt's childhood, his getting shot in the hand, working on their parent's farm, and his meeting and falling in love with Lydia. By the time he got to what happened to Burt's ranch and wife, Trinity was in tears. I watched the jury, and they looked almost as upset as the girl on the witness stand.

Trinity's story was straightforward.

 _"Burt bought a small ranch, and he and Lydia got married. Things went well for the first few months, and my brother found he was gonna be a father. He and Lydia were so happy – they both wanted a family. Then the drought hit, and things deteriorated rapidly. The hayfields dried up, the cattle died, and Lydia got big with child. Burt went to the bank for a loan to see them through and the banker laughed at him. Told my brother he was a poor risk and nobody would lend him money. Burt tried to sell the ranch, just to make enough money to move Lydia into town until the baby was born, but nobody would buy it._

 _"He went out to find work; any work, if it would pay enough to keep his wife and baby alive. He took a job that kept him away from home for three straight days, and when he finally got back to the ranch he found Lydia lying in bed, dead. She'd caught the fever and was too ashamed to go to the doctor with no money. Burt almost lost his mind; he was ruined emotionally. That's when he made the unwise decision to rob the bank – it was the only thing he could think of that would punish the banker who'd denied him a loan."_

"And once he got started robbing banks . . ." Bridgewater led Trinity.

"He saw no reason to stop. He had no one left, nothing to go back to. Somewhere along the way he met Roscoe Spencer, and they became partners. That continued until Burt decided he'd had enough of the partnership and terminated it. After that last job in Topeka."

"And did your brother tell you that he hadn't shot the bank teller, that he left the bank first and the teller was alive at that time?"

Trinity nodded and wiped her tears. "Yes, he said he hadn't shot the teller, that it must have been Roscoe."

"Thank you, Miss Jenkins. No further questions."

I was next, and even though I had no reason to worry, I wasn't looking forward to it. Hearing my name called in court brought back too many unpleasant memories. Yet call my name they did, and I put my hand on the Bible and promised to tell the truth.

"State your full name for the record."

"Bartley Jamison Maverick."

"Where is your home, Mr. Maverick?"

Answer truthfully, Bart. "Wherever I lay my head down at night."

"And what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a poker player."

"A gambler, you mean."

I chuckled. "That's what you'd call it." The courtroom laughed.

"What were you doing in Longworth, Kansas on the third of April, Mr. Maverick?"

"I was standin' in Lilybelle's tryin' to get a cup of coffee."

"Lilybelle's is a saloon in Longworth?"

"That's right."

"And you were trying to get a cup of coffee?"

"That's right," I answered. "Coffee."

"Did you get your coffee?"

"No, sir, but I did get Sheriff Randal's gun in my back."

"And why was that, Mr. Maverick?"

"I matched the description that Randal had of the man who'd robbed the bank in Topeka."

Bridgewater smiled slightly as he asked the question. "And do you remember what that description was?"

"Oh yeah. _'Tall. Slim. Thirtyish. Brown hair and eyes. Dresses like a gambler'_."

"It fit perfectly, didn't it?"

I nodded. "That part of it did, yeah. But there was more, as Sheriff Randal read when he took me back to the jail."

"And that was?"

"That Burt Jenkins had a scar from a bullet that had gone clean through his right hand when he was a kid."

The attorney grabbed my right hand and held it up for all to see, first the palm and then the back of the hand. "You mean this hand, which is totally unmarked?"

"That's the one."

He dropped my hand and turned to the jury as he asked the next question. "What did the sheriff do then?"

"He opened the jail cell and released me."

Bridgewater took his time, asking question after question about Trinity and our relationship, how I'd ended up tracking the fugitive with Sheriff Randal, and finally my conversations with Jenkins as we completed the trip to Wichita.

"And Jenkins finally admitted to you that he had an ex-partner in the Topeka holdup named Roscoe Spencer, and identified him as having white hair?"

"Snow white hair," I clarified.

"What happened when you, Sheriff Randal and Jenkins arrived in Wichita?"

"We turned the prisoner over to Marshal Temple."

"What did you do after that?"

"Marshal Temple told us he'd seen a man that matched Spencer's description at the Silver Dollar Saloon. I suggested the three of us meet there at seven o'clock to see if he was still in town, and we agreed."

"When you met at the saloon, was Spencer there already?"

"No, he came in the back door at a few minutes after seven, along with two other men. They got a bottle and glasses and found a table. Randal acted like he was goin' out the back door; Temple came at 'em from where he stood, and I went around the far side of the table. The marshal tried to arrest Spencer and both cowboys went for their guns; Randal shot one and I disarmed the other one. We took him and Spencer back to the jail."

"Did you hear Roscoe Spencer admit that he was the one that killed the bank teller, and not Burt Jenkins?"

"I did."

"Thank you, Mr. Maverick. That's all."

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was over; now it was up to the jury to decide what to do with Jenkins.

I walked out of the courtroom and lit a cigar; less than a minute later the lawmen and the attorney joined me. I blew out smoke and asked, "What do you think, counselor?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "They'll convict him of the robbery; that much seems certain. Let's just hope we presented enough evidence to clear him of the murder charge."

Trinity must have seen us all out on the boardwalk – next thing I knew she came scurrying up. She looked somewhere between hopeful and terrified. "How did it go, Bart?"

"Good . . . I think."

She reached up and kissed me on the cheek, and I saw Riley Temple grin. Jim Randal reached for the girl's hand and they held on to each other; Bridgewater lit his own cigar. Now all we could do was wait.

XXXXXXXX

It was late in the afternoon and we'd gone to get something to eat – not that anyone was much in the mood for eating, but it was a way to pass the time. When I say we I mean Temple, Randal, Trinity and me. Jim Bridgewater had elected to stay at the courthouse; as we came up the boardwalk he'd walked outside, evidently looking for us. The jury was back; we had a verdict.

Everybody except Trinity filed back into the courtroom; women were prohibited unless they were on trial or testifying. She looked calmer than she had when she was in the witness chair – more hopeful, now that she believed it had been proven Burt wasn't the man that committed the murder.

I took a seat to the left of the marshal, the sheriff sat on his right. The jury entered the courtroom, and Judge Roy asked for the verdict. The foreman stood and read what everyone had been waiting for – "On the charge of bank robbery, we find the defendant, Burt Jenkins, guilty. On the charge of first-degree murder, we find him . . . not guilty."

Everyone in the courtroom seemed to agree with the findings; what had begun as a group bent on hanging Jenkins had, with the presentation of the evidence, changed its mind. Jim Randal left his seat in the courtroom; he hurried to be with Trinity on the boardwalk.

The judge banged his gavel on the desk. "Burt Jenkins, having been found guilty of bank robbery, this court sentences you to three years in Kansas State Prison. Marshal Temple, please take your prisoner back to jail, where he will remain until he can be transported to prison in Topeka. Court dismissed." It was only then that I realized Riley Temple already had Jenkins in hand and on his way out the door.

By the time I got out of the courtroom Randal and Trinity were already gone. I assume they'd followed Temple and Jenkins down to the jail. Me and Jack Bridgewater stood outside the courthouse and smoked cigars. The attorney looked mildly pleased, and I asked him about the length of the sentence. "I think Judge Roy was awful lenient with that three-year sentence, don't you?"

Jack's head nodded as he blew out a ring of smoke. "I think he was, too." He was facing the jail, but he turned his head to look at me. "I'm surprised. Judge Roy's always been fair, be he's never been known to take pity on a criminal of any sort. I think that's what he did this time." He paused for a minute before continuing. "Shall we go see the prisoner?"

"Maybe it was Trinity's tale of Burt and Lydia?"

"Could be," Bridgewater agreed. "Could be."


	8. Déjà Vu

Chapter 8 – Déjà Vu

By the time me and Jack Bridgewater got down to the jail, everything was relatively settled. Jim and Trinity were going back to Longworth as soon as the sheriff testified at Roscoe Spencer's trial. Temple would take Burt to the prison in Topeka via train once Whitey's fate had been determined. I hadn't given it too much thought, but I had clothes and personal belongings to retrieve in Longworth, and I needed to do that so I could head wherever it was I was goin' next. I had the option of taking the stage or goin' back with Randal and Miss Dumond; I opted for the stage. Uncomfortable but faster, and the horse I'd ridden to Wichita belonged to the city of Longworth, so he could return with the newly minted sweethearts.

Whitey's trial was the following day; once again me, the marshal and the sheriff testified, and it only took fifteen minutes for the jury to find the outlaw guilty of first-degree murder. Judge Roy ordered Spencer to be hanged, and I bought a ticket on the coach that left for Longworth the following day. I was more than ready to get out of Kansas, and go . . . anywhere else.

I arrived in Longworth two days before the sheriff and the saloon girl did, and I hung around so I could tell them goodbye. I felt the need to do that; I don't know why, but I did. When they finally came riding into town I was the first one they told – the saloon girl wouldn't have to be either a saloon girl or Miss Dumond any longer. She was gonna be Mrs. Jim Randal.

I was happy for them because they were happy about it themselves; and I felt content, knowing I'd done something to help push the two of 'em in the right direction. Trinity certainly deserved something good in her life, and I was sure that Randal did, too. It was time for me to head on out of Kansas. I'd already stayed in this state longer than I'd intended, and the only thing I could think about was a certain lady living in Little Bend, Texas. The thought of holding her in my arms again was the most powerful motivation I could have had.

A few days later I was in Demeris, Texas, playing poker and getting ready to sleep in a nice, comfy bed. I'd been on the ground since leaving Kansas and my back wanted something softer, so I stopped in the little Texas town for some respite and recreation. I was just about the lay my cards down and claim the pot when I got that old feeling – a gun barrel in the back.

"Put up your hands, Faulkner, you're under arrest."

This was all too familiar. "Whoever this Faulkner fella is, sheriff, it ain't me. My name's Bart Maverick, and I can prove it."

"Sure, sure. You'll get your chance. Stand up and hand me your gun, real careful like, and we'll go on over to the jail."

As usual, with a gun in my back, I complied with the lawman's oh-so-polite request. "Just who is this Faulkner, anyway?"

"Pete Faulkner, wanted for armed robbery and murder in Dallas."

"And I suppose I fit the description?"

"Yeah, you do. Get up and let's go." The gun barrel poked me again.

I sighed and stood up. "Alright, sheriff, but I'm still not Pete Faulkner." Does any of this sound familiar to you?

The End


End file.
